


reconnaissance

by Mythopoeia



Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [261]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aredhel choosing not to make friends, Gen, Mithrim, Timestamp: the end of Mae’s first week back, a conversation, for good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythopoeia/pseuds/Mythopoeia
Summary: Be courteous,her father urges in her mind.Darling, be good,her mother whispers.Remember, you are a guest.
Relationships: Aredhel & Celegorm | Turcafinwë
Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [261]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	reconnaissance

“Aredhel!”

Nora is old, for an unmarried woman, and far too thin to be beautiful according to the standards back in New York, where even Aredhel’s slender figure and thin, solemn face was considered homely. Here in the West, however, nearly everyone lives hungrily, and Nora has a brash vivacity that makes her draw attention easily in a room, the way the finest ladies did in the dance halls back home. Aredhel, not one for making friends nor for seeking attention, has not sought out the company of any of Mithrim’s women, preferring to take her meals with Galadriel and Wachiwi, or with her brothers. It is a shock, then, when she sees Nora walking briskly towards her across Mithrim’s courtyard, all smiles, her hand outstretched to shake the way men do in greeting.

Aredhel does not take the hand. Her confusion must show on her face, because Nora only laughs, looking pleased with herself, and does not take offense.

“That native told me your name,” Nora explains with satisfaction, hands on her hips as she regards Aredhel from her higher vantage point. Aredhel squints up at her, frowning. Standing, she would be taller than this woman, and she does not much like how she feels at a disadvantage, from her lower position on the armory steps.

“Who do you mean?”

“Beren, he said his name was. I told him I thought you might be shy of me, seeing as how you are a newcomer, and I wanted to make certain you know you are welcome. The other girls think of me as a leader, you see, so I thought I should be the one to tell you hello. We have all been eager to meet you, as we see so few women in these parts.”

“Mighty kind of you,” Aredhel mutters, as she tries to think of an excuse to get away, “but I’m not shy. I’ve been too busy for socializing, that is all.”

“You and that little sister of yours, yes,” Nora agrees, breezily. “I shall have to extend a greeting to her as well, when I can find her. She _does_ make a run of the place, does she not? I assume it must be the road that taught her such wildness; wagon living is a danger in that way, to anyone that young. I saw her go out riding yesterday, with Finrod, and she sat in the saddle like a _man_ , shameless as you like!”

“That is the way _I_ taught her,” Aredhel says, icily. “And she isn’t my sister; she’s my cousin. I will let her know you send your regards; you needn’t trouble yourself with trying to hunt her down yourself.”

“Much obliged,” Nora returns, not fazed in the slightest by her _faux pas_. Aredhel, exasperated, drops her gaze to her feet and makes a show of reknotting her boot-laces, hoping to thereby signal this conversation is over.

Instead of moving away, however, Nora lingers. When Aredhel cannot possibly pretend her laces have any further need of knotting, she sits up reluctantly but does not lift her eyes. Nora’s skirts sway a little.

“I like you, Aredhel,” Nora’s voice says, kindly. “Even though we have scarcely met, I like you—it is maybe because I was so near your age when I first moved West; I cannot help taking an interest. I have been where you are, now, alone in a wild and lawless place. I didn’t have a father to protect me, though, so there’s you lucky, eh?”

Aredhel says nothing, and does not look up. _Be courteous,_ her father urges in her mind. _Darling, be good,_ her mother whispers. _Remember, you are a guest._

Aredhel shrugs one shoulder, and slumps deeper against the step. 

Heartened, Nora settles on the step next to her. When she stretches her legs out in front of her, Aredhel notices for the first time that she is wearing men’s boots, cracked and patched. Nora sighs, leaning back on her hands.

“You don’t even know how lucky you are. Me, I had a husband—or thought I would, once we could start our new life on the frontier. Once he struck rich in the goldfields.”

She snorts, and shakes back her sandy hair. 

“He never prospected as much as a brass cent. Once the money we had was gone, he ran back East to beg his wife’s forgiveness. I hope she shut the door in his bastard face.” Nora snorts again, and looks at Aredhel with the expression of a woman sharing a joke, but Aredhel can’t see anything worth laughing at. Nora’s brows lower appraisingly.

“Well. Ancient history, now, that is. I’ve made my way without him well enough. But you stay close to your father, now, and your brothers, too. I saw one of them walking about, yesterday, asking questions. He’s a fine, tall fellow. You are all tall in your family, ain’t you?”

Aredhel knows she is frowning. She straightens her back, and folds her arms.

“Turgon is married,” she tells Nora, firmly. She does not like the way the woman sounded, talking about her brothers. With a pang, she thinks of Elenwe and baby Idril, who had been so small yet when they had to part. Subsequent events proved cruelly enough that it had been the correct decision to leave mother and child behind in town, to wait in safety until Turgon could send word it was safe to follow. But a correct decision is not always painless. 

Nora is good at masking it, but Aredhel is certain she looks disappointed. She shrugs her narrow shoulders airily, and smiles again.

“Now there’s no surprise,” she says. “And what about the other one? The doctor? I’ve scarce seen him, since you all arrived. Did he really win in a fight with Mairon? And did he really bring Maedhros Feanorian back all on his own?”

“Gwindor helped,” Aredhel says, shifting uncomfortably. She does not want to talk about Fingon with this woman. Casting around for a change in subject, she counters with a question of her own.

“Do you know Maedhros?”

“After a fashion,” Nora says modestly, dipping her head. Her eyes, however, are suddenly sharp. “I knew him months ago, when he lived here with his father, and he was always kind to me: a proper gentleman, and a braw fighter. He was lonely, in those early days, and so we were glad for each other’s company. Oh, I wept for days, when we thought he was dead. Have you seen him, since your brother found him? They haven’t allowed me in the room, yet, though they allow that slave in to help. You know the one I mean; the woman with the disfigured face. Have you heard if they were lovers, in prison?”

“Maedhros was not in prison,” Aredhel snaps, with what she supposes, after, to be dog-instinct. Huan-instinct. “It wasn’t lawful, what Bauglir did to him. And her name is Estrela. Why don’t you ask her yourself if you care to nose about in her affairs so much?”

When Nora frowns there is a pout to it that makes her look petulant, in a way that puts Aredhel suddenly in mind of her schoolfellows back home in New York, the daughters of rich families who Aredhel never really cared to get along with. _A flock of mourning doves,_ she called them in one exasperated letter, _cooing and nervous and suspicious._

_‘Course they’re nervous,_ Celegorm had written back, with a helpful illustration: _They’ve a hawk now in their nest._

“Well,” Nora says, begrudging. “I’m frightened to speak to her. I am sure she does not like me—and anyway, it is so awkward trying to understand when she talks! I can’t make her words out half the time, to be honest with you, and I don’t want to embarrass her.”

“Very Christian of you,” Aredhel says, hawk-sharp. The look Nora shoots her now isn’t the same as it was before; there is something for the first time a little shamefaced about it, before it is gone again. 

“I know it is not her fault,” she says, as though beginning to say something else, but then she lapses into silence again. Aredhel itches to be away. The day is beautiful, the kind of day that fills up your eyes and your lungs at the same time, waking you up more than you thought possible. It’s a relief to live safely behind walls again, and to sleep beneath a roof and know there’s hot food to be had every day. It is good to be safe, and warm, and standing still. 

But sometimes, secret and confused, Aredhel can’t help but miss walking. 

“Look you,” Nora says abruptly. “Aredhel. I don’t mean to keep you. I just want you to know you’ve friends here, and that we are glad to have you. If any of the menfolk try giving you any trouble, you come straight to me. I’ll sort them. You hear? We women have to look out for each other, out here in the wild country. And there’s some things you can’t tell your father, or your brothers.”

_That is what a mother is for,_ says Aredhel’s heart, stupidly and before she can catch it. There is a pounding in her ears, suddenly, and in her eyes, and in her throat.

“I can take care of myself,” she rasps, too harsh. Nora scoffs.

“I thought the same at your age,” she says, pitying. “Don’t be proud, Aredhel; pride don’t last long out here. Stay close to your father, and find yourself a husband quick as you can; it ain’t no good fighting to take care of yourself when you can get someone else to do the fighting for you.”

“I said,” Aredhel says, harsher still, “that I can manage.” She pushes up to her feet. Nora, maybe not wanting to look up at her, finally looks away.

“Well,” she says, “just keep that in mind. That’s what that Estrela was clever enough to manage, with Maedhros. He will be leader here again, once he is recovered, did you know that? And she’s been sly enough to get close to him, despite her face.” 

Aredhel feels the blood draining cold from her own face, leaving only an awful ringing behind. She clenches her hands into fists, but is saved from whatever she might have done next by a sudden slamming sound of a door flung open across the courtyard. When she turns, startled, to the sound, she sees it is Celegorm emerging from the keep, his head almost touching the lintel. 

He has washed his hair, though he has not combed it. His hunting knife is at his belt.

“Careful getting close to that one,” Nora remarks. Her eyes are hooded, as she watches Celegorm cross the yard. He walks with one fist jammed in his coat pocket, and with his chin shoved low and scowling. Aredhel can read the tracks of misery down his spine the way he taught her to read the tracks of wild creatures, when they were young. 

Just last year, isn’t it funny to think? Just last year, they were both young. 

Celegorm shifts his head back and forth, as he walks. He’s looking for Huan, or he’s looking for her. 

“Aredhel,” Nora tries again, but Aredhel does not wait to hear any more of Nora’s unwelcome advice. She turns her back on the woman and calls for Celegorm to wait, rushing across the bright sunlit courtyard, and her shadow stretches out to meet his shadow on the ground.


End file.
